


Hierophilia

by Tiwtin



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Priests, BDSM, Church Sex, Comeplay, Heavy BDSM, M/M, Priest Kink, Secret Crush, Subspace, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:12:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3439928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiwtin/pseuds/Tiwtin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writing for an amazing prompt at the Fic Prompting Meme: </p><p>AU where Douglas didn't train to be a doctor, he trained as a priest.<br/>Religious Martin finds himself increasingly and inappropriately attracted to priest!Douglas. He finds any excuse he can to spend time with him before heading home to stew in a mix of lust and shame and furious masturbation as he imagines Douglas forcibly bending him over and fucking him raw in all the kinkiest ways possible.<br/>With lent upcoming Martin determines he should confess and give up these sinful thoughts, but he will need spiritual help to resist temptation.<br/>But Douglas is unexpectedly knowing, and offers more than just religious counsel- he offers to lock Martin's cock in chastity for the next 40 days to help him 'atone'...<br/>What follows is nearly six weeks of Martin's dirtiest fantasies come to life; From chastisement and cock-warming, to face-fucking and regular prostate milkings. Turns out the attraction was mutual and Douglas is even more of an authoritarian than Martin ever dared imagine.<br/>Bonus for baptismal imagery when Douglas comes on Martin's face, or else making Martin lick up his own milked-out fluids from a silver offering plate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of a WIP which should cover the 40 days (or rather nights) of Lent. I will add further tags as I continue to write and think up filthier and filthier things :-)
> 
> Big hugs to tracionn for betaing for me. (And for dragging me back into this airdot)

"Martin! How are you dear boy?" Douglas said, turning from the elderly Mrs Welsby who was trying to thrust a cat-hair adorned rock cake in his face. He tried his best to exude an air of community respectability, but lately he'd been questioning his devotion, and spent half his time wanting to throttle most of his flock. 

And now Martin had arrived, with his freckle painted blush, adorable stammer and a lithe form that would have turned the Virgin Mary's head - clearly God was trying him.

"Oh, H- Hi Father. I- err, I thought I'd help out with the church fete - tried my hand at baking," the young man said, thrusting a large Tupperware box towards Douglas.

"They look delicious, Martin," Douglas said, his eyes roaming down the young man's form before he peeled back the lid to reveal two dozen pink iced cupcakes. 'Not a damn chance he's straight,' Douglas thought to himself glancing at the rainbow sprinkles. 

"Well, I err, I thought it was such a worthy cause, the errr... Ermmmm..."

"Youth club fund, Deary!" Mrs Welsby chimed in, thrusting her selection of furred chunks of burned pastry towards Martin. "Want to try one? My mothers recipe!"

Douglas watched the horror spread over Martin's face at the concept. If Martin had one of those atrocities he'd be throwing up for a week. "Oh, errr-"

"Now, now, Mrs Welsby, can't be having you give away potential funds for the youth club, what will the little mites do without the club?" Douglas asked, knowing full-well the answer was bunk off school, nick car stereos and shag in the grave yard. Not that a youth club would change any of that, he knew.

"Of course! Of course, Father Richardson! But can't help wanting to feed this young'un up! I bet you're looking forward to the club opening so you can spend your evenings in there playing ping-pong and chess, eh?" Mrs Welsby said, turning to Martin.

Martin flushed deeply in response and coughed so sharply he looked like he'd already had one of Mrs Welsby's rock cakes rather than just smelling one.

"Now, Mrs Welsby, Martin's clearly in his early twenties-" Douglas defended. Douglas could tell the young man was obviously mortified, and Douglas cringed himself at the suggestion he'd been having such deviant fantasies about a boy. Yes, he was a priest, but not the Daily Mail type of priest!

"Thirty two! I'm thirty two years old!" Martin complained loudly, interrupting Douglas' defence. 

Was he now? Was he really? Perhaps he didn't feel so bad about such un-godly thoughts after all. 

"I- I have job with Civil Aviation Authority, I'll have you know! I'm l- lead safety policy advisor and am the l- leader of the team that writes update bulletins that go to all aircraft maintenance and civil aviation in the four countries of the UK! Just l- last week we issued an important safety release on the Boeing 777, one of the worlds most common aircraft, and- "

Douglas tried to hide his smile as he watched Mrs Welsby slip the offered cake back into her own tin and flit her eyes around the room. "Interesting, Dear. Ohhh there's Dorothy, must say hello!" With that the old bat was thankfully gone, bringing Martin's verbal self-defence to an early finish.

Douglas knew better than to thank him for getting rid of her, Martin found his own field supremely fascinating, but few could tolerate more than ten minutes worth of aviation safety information before sloping away.

It was probably why such a lovely young man spent so little time with his peers and so much time at church events and at services. For himself, he was lucky find the topic rather interesting as he'd once pictured himself as a dashing airline captain before his mother coaxed him into the Order.

"Thank you for coming, and for baking such treats," he said, sliding his fingers across Martin's as he properly accepted the box and heard the younger man's stutter for a moment.

"It-It's no problem, Father. In fact I was hoping to talk to a priest... I- I'm in need of some help... Some atonement, perhaps, and I was wondering if you could recommend a priest from a local village." 

"Well, Martin. You're in luck, I don't just wear these clothes for fun you know!" Douglas said, smirking at the thought of the clothes, ropes and leather he did wear for fun.

"Oh.. I- I- I don't know if I could tell you, it's very personal and- and I'd be ashamed-"

"Oh Martin, my boy," Douglas said, pulling the fretful young man to the side of the church hall. "I'm the soul of discretion, Martin. And nothing you say to me will cause me to think badly of you, I promise..." Douglas reached out, taking Martin's hands in his own and lowering his voice. "I understand the need to talk and I am here for you, whether you problem is spiritual, moral... sexual..." he said, knowing he'd got it right as soon as he saw Martin's cheeks blush from fuchsia to crimson.

"Nothing? Nothing I say will make you think badly of me? You promise? I- I need to talk to someone- I- I- can't carry on like this, it's torturing me. I can't sleep or eat, these thoughts-" Martin said frantically, eyes welling up with tears.

"Shuush... It’s okay, Martin, it's okay." Douglas said, pressing a reassuring hand to Martin's shoulder. His own carnal thoughts needed to be pushed to one side. Sweet, innocent, lovely Martin was in anguish and it was few and far between that Douglas got reminders as to why he became a priest. He had to help the young man.

"Come now, take a deep breath. You've made the right choice to speak to me. Now, here's fifteen pounds - I need you to purchase all of Mrs Welsby's rock cakes before she poisons the entire village. I believe she may have put cat food in them," Douglas said, reaching into his pocket as a Martin gave a weak laugh. He thrust a couple of notes into Martin's hand. "And when this is over in a couple of hours, come and see me at the vicarage... We'll sit and chat and I promise you I will help you," he said earnestly.

As he watched the young man nod and then walk back into the scattering of villagers, Douglas let out a breath. Could he really still do this? Could he really give wise, sagely and understanding help to a tortured young man when he'd spend the last year and a half having unholy fantasies about sodomising the young man and panting that rosy, freckled face with the evidence of his own carnal lust? 

It was going to be a long night.

~oOo~

Oh, there he was, with the mad cat lady from down Church Road, Martin though with relief. He clutched his culinary offerings and approached with trepidation.

"Martin! How are you dear boy?" Father Richardson exclaimed, spotting him. 'Dear boy', 'BOY' oh, how that made his filthy mind worse. 

"Oh, H- Hi Father. I- err, I thought I'd help out with the fete- tried my hand at baking," he stuttered, trying to get the images of a months old 'choir boy at the hands of Father Richardson' fantasy out of his mind.

He was spluttering something further, feeling his cheeks burn as they always did when in the presence of the handsome priest, when something smelling like dog food was shoved under his nose.

"Want to try one? My mothers recipe!"

Oh God, what do I do now? Jesus, is that supposed to be hairy? 

"Now, now, Mrs Welsby, can't be having you give away potential funds for the youth club, what will the little mites do without the club?"

Oh, thank fuck, Martin thought uncharitably, he didn’t want that thing anywhere near his mouth. He was trying to cast the priest a grateful smile when he heard the old bat refer to him as a child. Ping-pong?! Board games? The old games Martin wanted to play were filthy sex games with a priest, hardly a child-like urge!

He wasn't barely out of his teens either. Annoyance overpowered attraction as the father smiled and guessed his age. He was here to get help for a very, very adult problem, not learn about the fucking harvest festival and attend Sunday School.

"Thirty two! I'm thirty two years old!" He heard himself say, followed by the standard rant he gave his brother when he insulted his career path.

It had much the same effect as it had on Simon and Mrs Welsby made an excuse and left, leaving him feeling very small, very young and very stupid.

There was no way he could confess now. Yet he couldn't go on like this, his mind had been nothing but filth for months and he was torturing himself. 

Where he used to spend time reading engineering manuals and watching Air-Crash Investigation on Sky TV, he now spent it on the internet watching worse and worse porn, looking at pictures of men doing filthier and more sordid things to each other, and rubbing his cock raw thinking about each and every one of those situations with himself and the kindest man he knew in their places.

He needed help, he needed abstinence and moral guidance, just not from Father Richardson.

"It-It's no problem, Father. In fact I was hoping to talk to a priest... I- I'm in need of some help... Some atonement, perhaps, and I was wondering if you could recommend a priest from a local village." 

"Well, Martin. You're in luck, I don't just wear these clothes for fun you know!" The Father jested. Oh fuck, of course he'd want to do it himself, he's lovely and caring and you're part of his congregation you stupid fool!

"Oh.. I- I- I don't know if I could tell you, it's very personal and- and I'd be ashamed-" Martin tried, but Douglas' response was so sweet, so good, so understanding it made Martin want to weep.

Before he could gather a real argument, Father Douglas was coaxing him back at the end of the night, promising to help, not to judge and it all came pouring out. 

Martin stumbled away, wondering how the hell he would phrase what he needed to say and wondering which other town he could live in afterwards.

~oOo~

It was half nine when Martin tapped lightly on the door, bearing a large bag of inedible cakes and half hoping there would be no answer.

The old oak door swung open however, and Douglas appeared, still in black habit and dog-collar. 

"Martin, come on in. Ahh, you've brought the cakes, excellent. I'll feed them to the sinners later," Douglas joked. 

The reaction on Martin's face of horror made him stall. "Good grief, Martin, I'm kidding... Unless you're here to confess crimes rivalling Hitler's no one, not even God, would punish you so harshly."

Martin tried to emit a polite laugh which didn't even fool his own ears and in response was tugged inside and guided to a warm library with an open fire and low lighting.

"Come, take off your coat Martin and sit," Douglas coaxed. The young man looked terrified. Douglas poured him a whiskey - Martin looked like he direly needed it, and some water for himself before taking a seat in front of the fire and handing the nervous young man the glass.

"Whatever you say to me tonight Martin is between you, me and God, and I'm here to help you and guide you in the best way I can... Why don't you tell me what's troubling you?" Douglas said using his best 'soothing' voice.

"I- I- I-" 

Oh dear, the stuttering has started, Douglas thought. He leaned forward and put a comforting hand over Martin's. The young man released a stuttered breath.

"I'm having bad thoughts about someone... Very bad thoughts," Martin managed.

"You wish this person harm?" Douglas enquired, surprised. Martin didn't look like he'd wish anyone ill-will.

"No... Yes... No-" Martin struggled. "I don't wish them harm exactly, but I wish me harm... And other things... Bad, bad things." 

Douglas stayed quiet as Martin turned to look at the fire, taking a fortifying breath. "I don't wish this person harm, far from it... I want them to do things to me... Bad things."

Ahhh... Douglas realised. The young man had blushed brightly when he'd suggested the problem was a sexual one earlier. 

Douglas tried his hardest to temper his desire and enquire with only Martin's benefit in mind. "Tell me what these bad things are, Martin?"

There was a long pause and Douglas watched as Martin built up his courage and closed his eyes, glass gripped tightly in his fingers.

"Perverted things, Father. So many bad, bad, thoughts."

Douglas licked his lips and swallowed. "Go on," he said as calmly as possible. "About who?" If it was that damn florist girl that half the congregation drooled after, he'd have to start buying the church flowers elsewhere.

"A man..." Martin admitted quietly. 

Douglas' mouth went dry. 

"Martin, the modern church is quite progressive... To love another man is not the sin it used to be-"

A choked sob interrupted him. "It’s not just that I think I love him - It's the things I want him to do to me!"

A that moment, Douglas was very thankful for a lose black priest clothing and low lighting as his cock twitched.

"What is it you think of this man doing to you, Martin?" Douglas asked, his voice getting unconsciously rough.

"Everything!" Martin sobbed. "Touching me... roughly. Slapping me, spanking me, beating my ar- my rear. I think about him whispering dirty things to me, having sex with me and much, much worse. Oh, god, please help me father - its all I can think about. I touch myself all the time... I've- I've penetrated myself thinking about him, wanting him to be the one doing it."

Douglas' breath seemed hard to catch, he was now hard under his robe and his mind was filled with the most lustful pictures of this beautiful young man being dominated by another man, that slim arse being spanked and penetrated... God did truly hate him to send him such a temptation.

Fuck it. Fuck God. Fuck everything. There was no way he would dish out admonishment to this gorgeous man for having a mind as sinfully appealing as the rest of him.

"Tell me, Martin... Cleanse your soul. Tell me the worst of it. Only then can we heal you." 

Going to hell. Douglas was going to hell anyway with that porn collection of his, and his box of toys and ohhh, the thoughts he'd had about this very young man. 

"Lent is starting. I was going to try and give up these thoughts, these wants. But I've tried before and I can't. He doesn't deserve such vile, perverted thoughts about him," Martin sniffled. "He's a respected man! You're a good man. He's pure and kind and understanding," Martin whimpered hysterically. 

'You're a good man' he'd said. Was this a slip? Could it be? Or was this just his hopeful imagination?

"Tell me about him, Martin?"

"He's respected, kind, sweet, a bloody pillar of society, yet all I want to be on my knees, bound for him with his cock choking me! I can't stay away from him. God, Father, please help me!"

"Does he know of your interest in him?" Douglas asked cautiously. "Is he a family man?" Douglas continued.

"No... I realised I couldn't tell him. But not because of a family or wife... But he's bound elsewhere. I couldn't even have him if my thoughts were more... placid, more sweet towards him."

Douglas ran through the prominent people who might fit the bill. The Magistrate, GP and school teacher were female, leaving the two local policeman assigned to the area who were both happily married with young kids and... himself.

"Tell me the worst of it, Martin..."

"My thoughts are getting more and more depraved. Spiralling out of control!" Martin sobbed. "What started off as nice thoughts of kissing, turned a little naughty. Wrists that were held tightly, became ties, became chains, became spreader bars - I couldn't help but look things up online. I wanted a little spanking, but that became whipping, sexual torture, denial and humiliation. I want his fingers in me, his tongue, his cock, his whole hand in me!"

"Good god," Douglas breathed.

"I look for more and more perverted things I want him to do to me. I want him to fuck me until I'm raw, until I can't come any more and I'm sobbing for him to stop and I want him to keep going. What's wrong with me, Father?!"

'Fucking nothing! You are perfect!' Popped straight into Douglas' mind.

"And you wish for atonement? To contain this arousal, to utilise the spiritual purity the period of lent can help give you?"

Oh, Douglas was a bastard now, and he knew it. Perhaps when this was over he could quit the order and take up a nice paper-shop in Aberdeen where God might not be able to open a portal to hell beneath his feet.

"Yes... Please help me, Father!"

"Wait here, my child."

With difficulty, Douglas, stood and left the room, adjusting his throbbing erection as soon as he was clear of the library and making a quick dash to his bedroom.

Ripping open his wardrobe door he reached in and pulled out the box innocuously marked 'prayer materials' and ripped it open. He pushed aside the various porn DVD's, half empty bottles of lube, anal plugs and leather items until he found what he was looking for: a steel spiralled chastity cage he'd bought online after seeing some rather delightful porn. It had never done anything for him, but as he scrabbled in bottom of the box for the small padlock and key, he realised it was perfect.

He hoped dearly that he was right, and that it was him Martin was fantasizing about, but either way, he'd have a hell of a lot of fun finding out.

By the time he'd dashed back, taken three or four calming breaths before re-entering the room, Martin was quiet, head in hands, fingers splayed over his face in shame.

"Martin, I can help you," he said, sitting back down and resting a hand 'comfortingly' on the young man’s knee. "I must help you control your lustful urges." 

Martin sniffed and came from behind his hands, nodding bravely. "Anything, Father."

"Your physical arousal must be tamed.... When you think these thoughts about this man, do you reach a bodily climax?"

Martin closed his eyes again in shame. "Yes Father."

"Then I need you to trust me Martin. Will you do as I say?"

"Yes Father."

"Over the period of Lent you will need to visit me, here at the Vicarage. Perhaps nightly if you need it. Are you willing to commit to this?"

"'Yes, Father."

"Then close your eyes and bare your manhood to me," Douglas said smoothly.

"What?" Martin asked, confused, brows suddenly furrowed. "I think I misheard you, Father."

"I asked you to bare your manhood to me... Stand. Take out your penis from your clothing."

Martin gaped at him, cheeks stained dark in the low light.

"If I am to help you, you must trust me." 

Martin mouthed at him, still shocked. The boy started to place his glass on the table and Douglas knew he was going to try and excuse himself. 

If Douglas' gut-instinct was right, he had to work with more than polite request. He pulled the cock-cage from his pocket and held it on the palm of his hand between them. 

Martin's breath caught as he looked down, the polished steels glinting between them in the firelight. Nervous eyes glanced back to Douglas'.

"Martin, you WILL obey me." Douglas held Martin's gaze, firm and dominant. Douglas knew there was no way Martin could fool himself that this was above board, but the whimper of desire that came from Martin's throat was all telling.

"For forty days and forty nights you will wear this. Your body and mind will belong to me. I will make you experience every filthy, perverted act you have ever thought about and more. You will submit to me and experience dark desires that will push you to your limits... And throughout you will be denied your own release. This is your penance... Do you accept?"

There was a long pause, Martin's eyes fixed on the steel cage. His ragged breath harsh between them.

When Martin did answer, his words came out as a breathy whimper.

"Yes, Father."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin pays his first visit to Father Richardson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, many thanks to tracionn for the beta and amazing art.

Douglas tried hard to keep his face impassive, to hide the relief and arousal surging through him.

"Then stand. Bare yourself to me," Douglas commanded with a little more authority.

With shaking legs, Martin slowly stood, conscious of how close his hips were to the priest’s face. His hands slowly moved to his fly and faltered. This was madness.

Douglas sat back a little, sensing the young man’s hesitation. He did his best to keep his voice authoritative and not too tainted by the lust he felt surging through him.

“Hurry, boy. Your sinful thoughts must be punished,” Douglas ordered, eliciting a small whimper from young man and a sudden, hurried compliance. 

Good God, the boy reacted beautifully to command.

Slipping the button free at the waist of his jeans, Martin slid the zip down hastily as Father Richardson’s deep, forceful voice washed over him. He closed his eyes and quickly pushed his jeans and underpants down to his thighs, eager to get the terrifying exposure over with.

Martin gasped as his erection, swollen and sensitive from the priest’s shocking, dirty words, caught on his clothing, causing it to spring out into Douglas’ view.

“Look at you, you filthy child.” 

And oh, God, did Douglas look. Martin’s beautiful long, slim, reddened cock stood stiffly from a patch of trimmed ginger curls. The head beaded fresh pre-cum, quickly replacing what his clothes had just wiped away. Martin looked desperate; his swollen cock matching the look of pure need on Martin’s pained face. 

Douglas rose from his chair, his frock coat brushing martin’s erection as he stood, causing the exposed man to gasp. Douglas smiled menacingly, he had a feeling that the more strict and dominant he was, the hotter Martin would become. 

He took Martin by surprise by grasping the young man’s throat, not tightly, just to show control. 

“Your mind and body are plagued with perversions; I can’t even lock your body away from your own abuse while you’re like this.”

“I- I’m sorry, Father… I- I-can’t help it,” Martin sobbed, face red, eyes watering up. 

Douglas brought his mouth to the young man’s ear.

“Listen closely. Your punishment needs to start tonight. I will push you to your limits and I will not slow down, I will not go easy on you – But I will stop. I will release you immediately and cease this agreement permanently if you utter the word ‘Mary’. 

Martin’s eyes flicked to the portrait of the Virgin Mary that hung on the far wall.

“Do you understand, child?”

Martin licked his lips before he replied. “Yes, Father.”

“What’s the word? Say it just once to show me you do.” Please, understand.

Martin’s voice was a whisper. “Mary.”

Martin felt the hand at his throat ease, and Father Richardson’s warm breath sigh against his cheek. Was that that sigh in relief? Did the priest want this as much as him? 

The warmth of the priest’s hand left him completely and Father Richardson stood back raising his hand sharply and Martin felt a rush of adrenaline that made his cock twitch. 

‘Please!’ Martin thought - Strike me, slap me. There was a tinge of disappointment and confusion when the priest’s hand came to his own throat. Douglas hooked his index finger into his own collar, pulling away the hard white strip of plastic that made up his stiff dog collar. He held it in his fingers.

“I will whip the evidence of your ungodly arousal until I can place you in chastity.”

“Oh, God,” Martin panted, his fists tightening by his side.

Douglas grabbed the hair on the back of the young man’s head, forcing him to look down at his cock. “Count the blows it takes.”

Father Richardson raised his hand, the strip of plastic tight between his fingers and thumb; the other gripping tighter in Martin’s ginger hair.

The first smack of the collar against his cock made a sharp snapping sound, followed by the gasp of air Martin took as the strip of whipped plastic whipped across length of his erection.

Martin whimpered, panting; his nails cutting arcs into his palms as he fought to control his urge to drop to his knees and rut mindlessly against Father Richardson’s leg.

Hot breath was back at his ear, words dark, threatening and utterly erotic. “I said count!”

“O- One,” Martin panted obediently. A second later the second strike whipped over the head of his cock. 

“Oh, God, God…” The hand tightened painfully in Martin’s hair, barely stopping him from coming.

“Count!”

“TWO!” Martin sobbed. 

Douglas brought the makeshift whip down a third time, causing a broken cry of pleasure.

“Three!”

The forth blow made Martin moan outright and he closed his eyes, ready for the fifth slap against his cock when the priest’s mouth was at his ear again. 

“Filthy slut, enjoying your own punishment,” Douglas whispered, wet breath hot against his neck. The collar was pushed against his mouth and the smear of his own pre-come marked his lips, slickness and salt registering on the tip of Martin’s tongue as he licked the collar automatically. 

Martin felt an extra thrill as he watched Father Richardson’s eyes darken further.

The fifth slap may have been retaliation; it was harder, making Martin cry out. And apparently Father Richardson didn’t care if the blow wasn’t counted as the sixth, seventh, eighth and ninth came in quick succession, each harder than the last. 

The last fell across the wet tip, causing a sharper pain than the rest and Martin’s legs gave out under him.

A strong arm grabbed for him, the priest pressing himself to Martin’s side; collar scrunched in the hand that held the young man up by his slim waist.

Their faces, mouths were inches apart, and Martin wanted nothing more than a kiss; for Father Richardson to devour his mouth the way he was devouring his mind. 

Martin inched his face forward, restrained by the fist still in his hair, but it tightened and the priest’s eyes which had been encouragingly on his lips snapped back to his own eyes.

“Sinner…” Douglas breathed. “The devil takes his pleasure in pain. He must be exorcised from your body. 

The fist in his hair pulled him back and Martin whimpered as the priest tugged him towards the door.

Martin stumbled forward, dragged confused and sobbing into a dark flag-stone corridor, his yanked scalp stinging due to being hampered by the jeans and pants around his thighs.

“STRIP!” Father Richardson ordered, releasing his hair with a shove. He could see Martin in a shaft of light that came from the room they’d just exited, but Douglas purposefully stepped back into the darkness.

The priest’s hands went to his own frock-coat and Martin eagerly pushed off his own shoes and pulled his jacket and t-shirt over his head in quick succession.

To Martin’s dismay, the priest wasn’t disrobing, but rather fishing out a large ornate iron key. 

“Leave your clothes here. For the next 40 days you shall not enter my church clothed – do you understand?”

Martin glanced at the large wooden door beside them – it had to lead directly into the church from the vicarage.

“N- Not even Sunday?” Martin asked with confusion as the last of his clothes fell onto the darkened floor.

The strong, broad hand was back at his throat at an instant. “Do you question me?”

“No Father!” Martin gasped, automatically gripping Douglas’ wrist with both his own hands.

Douglas was momentarily stunned by the slender, delicate fingers around his wrist. He let his eyes trail to where his own hand gripped around at Martin’s throat, making the young man’s neck look slim and pale. Fragile. 

Below his fingers was a flush of red, matching the flush high on the boy’s cheekbones. Naked like this, Martin looked so young and innocent; it was hard to believe Martin was twenty, let alone thirty two. A body like this and a mind so filthy – he was truly a gift from God. Douglas smiled at irony of his thoughts.

There was a flush of embarrassment at being stripped and inspected, or perhaps just arousal, or even both, Douglas reasoned; it continued further down onto Martin’s pale freckled chest.   
There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the young man and his ribs stood in sharp relief as he pulled breath past the priest’s fingers. Small rosy nipples stood erect and Douglas had the urge to pinch them, bite them, clamp them, torture them. 

He would, but not tonight. 

Father Richardson’s gaze dropped further. Martin’s erection had not diminished in the slightest. It was clear that despite the flushed skin, wide eyes and slight tremor, Martin was enjoying this very much.

Without letting go of Martin’s throat, he used his other hand to unlock the door and pulled Martin into the dark coldness of the church. 

Martin could just make out their surrounding as the priest dragged him past the pews and pulled him up to the chancel area, pushing the naked man to his knees at the top of the steps that led to the alter.

“Kneel!” Father Richardson commanded, his voice resonating around the church as it did on Sundays when Martin obediently listened to that voice expound the virtues of a pure Christian soul.

Father Douglas released his throat and turned to approach the altar. A single match flared to life in his fingers and Martin watched, shaking with excitement as the priest lit two candelabras, bathing his naked body in light.

He lit three extra pillar candles, placed them on the silver offer tray which lay on the altar, he added a small ornate glass bottle and brought them back to where Martin still knelt obediently.

He slowly laid the candles out on both side of Martin and another candle a metre in front of him, illuminating Martin’s pale body further. Martin watched in silence, the ceremony of the act calming him somewhat.

“Forward. On your hands and knees, child” Father Richardson directed. Martin’s arms shook as he complied obediently, conscious of his erection hanging heavy under him.

Martin watched, cold and confused as the priest took the ornate bottle and slid it into his pocket before placing the shiny, perfectly polished offering tray below his body.

The priest stood back, eyes roaming along the length of Martin’s body, a torrent of perverted, fevered possibilities running through his mind.

“Your hands must not leave the floor. It is my duty to give the church an offering of your body, but you will not abuse yourself further. I will anoint you and then place you in chastity for the next 40 days and nights.”

Martin whimpered, looking down at the plate beneath his cock in sudden realisation as the priest approached him, tugging his head back with his hair before sliding his hand slowly down the nape of his neck, down his spine and to his arse.

“Fuck… Jesus, please touch me, please!” Martin begged when the hand went to one of his arse cheeks and not where he wanted it the most.

Martin cried out a fraction of a second after the hard smack of the priest’s hand struck his arse. The shock of the noise initially made him gasp.

“You will not blaspheme in my church!” Douglas shouted, striking Martin’s pale rear a second time.

Martin dropped to his elbows and moaned loudly, the sound of the third slap resonating around the gothic arches of the church.

“You filthy, depraved little whore,” Douglas spat, gripping the reddened cheek harshly and making Martin hiss.  
“Look at you. I beat you for blasphemy and your cock drips.” 

“Yes, Father, I’m depraved. I want it, need it. Please fuck me. God, please fuck me,” Martin begged.

“More blasphemy! Let’s just see how much beating your arse can take before you repent your sinful desires.”

Martin felt the priest stand behind him and looked over his shoulder to see Father Richardson raising his frock-coat and reaching for his belt. Martin hoped for a moment as Father Richardson slowly unbuckled his belt that that priest was about the take mercy on him and take him roughly, but instead he slid the black belt out of his trousers and took the wide leather strip in his hands.

“Face forward,” was the only further warning Martin received as the first sharp snap of leather flayed across his already rosy behind.

It had been heaven spanking Martin’s rear with his hand, his own palm stinging as he brought up pink, hand shaped marks or that perfect creamy-white arse. 

And Martin’s reactions were stunning – harsh words made his skin blush, a hand around his throat made his pupils dilate with arousal, a light spanking to his cock made him moan for more and a hard spanking made him beg for a fucking. As Douglas brought down his arm, he hoped that he wouldn’t be pushing the young man too far.

The blow that landed created a loud crack against Martin’s skin and an instant mark that darkened by the second. Martin’s head flung back, his back arching, lean body straining, but he stayed quiet.

“Do you wish to say the Holy Mother’s name?” Douglas asked softly. The mark on his rear was quickly turning purple and he had no doubt the sting of it must be excruciating. 

Martin shook his head slowly, but didn’t turn around.

“Answer me. Turn to me - let me see your face, and answer me,” Douglas said. It was a command, but a gentle one. 

Martin turned bright watery eyes to him, his bottom lip bitten between his teeth. His face was flushed scarlet. 

“No Father,” Martin mumbled, seeming slow in his reactions.

The priest studied the young man for a moment before leaning forward and running a hand over the painful looking stripe on Martin’s skin.

Martin shuddered and moaned in clear arousal, his head dropped back down and the young man pressed his arse back into the priest’s hand.

It was all Douglas could do not to curse and blaspheme in his own church.

“Do you deserve more?” he asked. 

“Yes, Father. Please…”

Douglas had to take a deep breath to steady himself before asking the next question.

“How many more do you need, you filthy little slut?”

Douglas watched the tremor his words caused travel across Martin’s shoulders, right down to his thighs. 

“Four, Father… I think I can take four more.”

Douglas closed his eyes, glad Martin couldn’t see him. He really wasn’t sure who was being punished here anymore.

“Count from two…And tell me how your punishment feels with each blow. At least three words for each strike. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Father,” Martin whimpered.

“Then we begin again. Head down. Watch your traitorous cock drip out its offering.”

The blow landed as Douglas planned on the opposite cheek and Martin flinched and gasped, then spoke.

“Two, Father. Sharp… Painful… Good.”

Douglas looked down and planned his third strike, diagonally across the initial belt mark on the right cheek. The belt cracked loudly in the empty church as it snapped down exactly where the priest had planned.

This time Martin did more than flinch; he bowed his entire body, head snapping back, shoulders tensing. Douglas could see the young man’s eyes screwed shut.

“Th- Three, Fh- Father. Deep, intense, stinging.”

Father Richardson brought a matching diagonal strike. He felt dizzy and flushed and was suddenly conscious he’d forgotten to breathe. 

“FOUR! Ahhhh….Raw… Hot… so fucking hot. Burning. My whole body’s on fire,” Martin sobbed.

Douglas was panting and as Martin’s head dropped back down for the final lash the priest pressed the heel of his hand against the base of his own erection, desperate to calm himself.

He looked over the now quaking body in front of him. Two evenly matched, and quite fitting, deep red crosses lay across each cheek. Martin looked stunning, his pale freckled skin took on a hue in the candlelight from sweat, making the tortured young man look oiled.

Between Martin’s legs the light glistened from the bead of pre-come that hung from his cock, a small pool already gathered in the shining silver tray beneath him.

“One more,” Douglas warned.

“Yes, Father… Please…”

The fifth blow came down across both buttocks, aimed for the crease between buttocks and legs. But the priest’s hands had shaken with his own ungodly lust and the edge of the leather lashed against Martin’s balls.

Martin howled in pain and Douglas dropped the belt immediately, terrified he’d truly hurt this beautiful, extraordinary young man. The priest fell to his knees as Martin raised himself to his own, his hands automatically shielding where the leather had struck his sensitive genitals.

“Martin!” Douglas gasped, his arms encompassing the young man’s naked body. Martin turned his head to Father Richardson, tears were streaming down his face yet he managed a watery, proud smile.

“Five, Father.”

“Oh, my beautiful boy,” Douglas said, impressed at the resilience they young man had. “Tell me, Martin. Tell me my three words.”

Martin closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the priest’s shoulder.

“Agony… Blissful… Peaceful… Peaceful agony.”

Martin’s head was lolling slightly to the side, his words slurring. 

The times he had properly engaged in this sort of sex previously he had done so with professionals and had been educated in the psychological effects of being totally immersed into intense play, especially if it involved pain. 

Douglas wasn’t at all surprised by Martin’s submissive response. The hand smacking would have stung, but was fairly average for anyone with this sort of interest. However, the leather belt had been very harsh, and the reality of his role as an authority figure in Martin’s life had clearly had an effect.

Douglas thought of the small glass bottle of anointment oil that sat in his pocket as Martin leant more of his weight into his body. He took advantage of Martin’s listless state and pressed his face into the damp curled hair behind the young man’s right ear, inhaling his warm scent. 

Douglas could feel the heat radiating from Martin tortured rear which pressed deliciously against his own groin and he felt a small tremor pass though the younger man as he pressed his own hips forward in response.

“Shushhh, it’s okay. You’ve been such a good boy,” he whispered into Martin’s ear, brushing a palm up and down Martin’s chest and smooth abdomen as Martin seemed to come around a little.

“I was going to force your offering from of you without touching your cock… I planned to torture your prostate with my fingers until you sobbed and cried and wailed… and came screaming in distress…”

Martin’s head rose slowly from his shoulder and he looked into the priest’s eyes. Martin’s mouth was partially open, his breathing still deep and unhurried, he blinked slowly at Douglas but offered no rejection.

“I could even abuse the aching, tender skin on your arse further, raising welts, prolonging your torture…” Douglas suggested. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Father,” Martin answered quietly, his voice breaking as he spoke.

“Tell me Martin, how often do you allow yourself to be punished in this way?” 

Douglas suddenly needed to know. How many times had this beautiful young creature been in his church on a Sunday, looking up at him obediently, arse bruised and stinging against the wooden pew seat?  
How many times had his own vile, debauched masturbatory fantasies about this man paled in comparison with reality? 

“Never, Father.”

“Never? The truth, Martin.”

Martin searched his eyes, seeming not understanding what he had said that was wrong.

“I’m sorry, Father. I have never been punished, or hurt the way I wanted. I’ve only ever wanted it.”

“Your thoughts of these deeds have only ever remained thoughts?”

“Yes, Father.”

Well, if he wasn’t going to dead-centre of the inner-most circle of hell for what he’d just done to one of his innocent parishioners, then he most certainly was from the way his cock throbbed anew from the knowledge he’d been the first to play with Martin in this way.

“Then you’ve made me proud of you for taking your lashings so well,” Douglas said, basking in the heat the second watery smile caused. 

“But I still want your offering,” Father Richardson said, trailing his hand down to Martin’s still hard cock.

Martin shuddered and moaned. 

“Make the most of this reward,” the priest hissed into Martin’s ear. “Because this is the last touch your cock will receive for the next 40 days and nights.”

“Yes… Oh, God, yes,” whimpered as Douglas began to fist him. There was so much renewed desire in Martin’s voice that Douglas slipped easily back into his role as perverted, domineering priest.

“Blasphemy again!” His free hand went to Martin’s hair and grasped it tightly in his fist and forced Martin’s head forward all the way down to the floor. 

Not ready for the move, Martin hadn’t put his arms out in time and has his cheek forced against the ground as Father Richardson pressed tightly up against his abused arse, his other hand still tight around his cock.

“You’re still going to need the whole of lent for me to punish you, aren’t you?”

This time, Martin was gasping too hard to respond. He’d managed to stay on his knees with the priest’s arm wrapped around his hips, but his cheek dragged forward on the deep-red carpeted steps as the priest ground a distinctive bulge against his sore rear.

Martin’s cock was soaked with the pre-come Douglas had teased from his body and the priest had to keep a tight grasp to stop his hand slipping off as he began to fist the young man’s cock again. Panting turned in to whimpers and then keening cries as Father Richardson pumped his hand.

Bent over the naked man’s back, Douglas rutted against Martin’s arse. His pants, trousers and frock-coat keeping him from holding the crying man down and pushing roughly into his body. He was hot, gasping along with Martin and riding along with Martin’s crescendo of pleasure.

“Filthy, dirty, unholy child,” Douglas bit out, receiving a sob in response. “Your body is mine for the next forty days to make you cry, make you bleed, make you whimper and make you plead for mercy,” Douglas snarled. He tightened his fist in Martin’s hair and dragged him back up to kneeling position, looking over his shoulder at the painful looking erection he stroked.

“Nasty slut,” Douglas cursed hotly in Martin’s ear to an answering whimper. “Beg me… Tell me how much you want me to torture you, tell me what a dirty slut you are or I’ll let go. I’ll leave you here, right now – helpless and wanting!”

“NOOO! Father! Please!”

“TELL ME!”

“I’m a whore! I’m a depraved, filthy animal. Fuck me, whip me! PLEASE! Just hurt me! I’m your slut- Ahhh!” Martin screamed out as his broke over him, seizing in his priest’s controlling grasp. Martin’s cries were alarmingly loud in the echoic church as his climax spurted out across the silver offering plate, guided by Father Richardson’s hand, his other leaving Martin’s hair to support him around the chest once more. 

Martin pulsed over and over, each wave of release uncurling the tight coil of pent up arousal, but slowly getting weaker until Martin fell back into Father Richardson’s embrace. 

High on endorphins, Martin smiled blissfully, turning his head on Father Richardson’s shoulder to look at him. The look of anger and lust made him remember the night wasn’t over yet. He let the smile drop from his face.

“Enjoy that, my little pain-whore?” 

“Yes, Father,” Martin answered honestly.

Douglas fished around in his pocket and brought out the cock cage, holding it out on his palm. 

“I think it’s time, don’t you?” Father Richardson asked, looking down at Martin’s rapidly deflating erection. This was the final step to the night. By permitting himself to being locked into chastity, he was giving himself to Douglas for the next six weeks.   
If he didn’t, Douglas would be truly disappointed but he would understand.

Martin swallowed and looked at the glistening metal in the priest’s palm then looked up into the priest’s face expecting to see an angry or stern expression. Instead he caught a look of hopefulness in those big brown eyes.

“Yes please, Father.”

Douglas tried his hardest to keep the utter joy off his face when Martin willingly parted his thighs, and laid his head back against his shoulder fully. Utterly open, utterly submissive.

In silence, Douglas slipped off he open lock and placed the hinged cock ring around him closing it around him snugly as Martin looked back down. 

“Comfortable enough?” Douglas asked.

“I think so, Father.”

Martin watched as Douglas stretched out, reaching forward to the cum splatted plate and swiping two fingers through the mess. He brought his hand back to Martin’s cock. Martin shivered as the priest spread the slick offering over the glans and shaft to ease the way of the cage.

The priest then took hold of the cage and slid it on carefully, ensuring the pin slotted into place without catching sensitive skin.

Douglas reached for the small padlock, slid it through the fastenings and clicked it shut with equal reverence.

When Douglas turned back to look at Martin, the question of if it felt okay died on his lips. Yet again the young man seemed drugged, looking up from his caged cock with blown pupils and a dazed look. 

“Good boy,” Douglas whispered. “Now lick my fingers.”

The tip of Martin’s pink tongue slipped from between his lips and took small, delicate licks against his fingers, tickling the pads of each digit as it swirled around each in turn. Martin made a small moan of pleasure as Douglas pressed his fingers into the wet cavern of Martin’s mouth.

“You like that don’t you, my little slut?” Douglas asked, removing his now clean fingers, Martin giving them a last kitten-lick. Keen to keep up the play, but with a certain level of affection now that he knew how far Martin had already been pushed for his first time. 

“Yes. Very much, Father.”

“Stay knelt for me,” Douglas commanded softly, getting to his feet and hoping to God Martin hadn’t heard his knees crack. 

He moved the candle from in front of Martin and put it to the side to give him more light, watching the young man stiffen his back with renewed keenness as he waited for his next command. 

The priest came to stand before the younger man’s knelt form before he spoke. 

“It pleased me you watch you lick your offering from my fingers, child. Take the plate in your hands,” Father Richardson ordered.

Obediently Martin raised the spunk covered silver offering plate in both hands, those blue-grey eyes turn still dark and looking up at him as thought this church had been built in his name.

“Clean it with your tongue, child. Slowly.”

Douglas watched as Martin lent forward and that beautiful pink tongue lapped out once more slipping through the white ejaculate adorning the silver plate, scooping it up with a curl of his tongue. His eyes fluttered shut as he tasted, only to open and find the priest’s gaze again after swallowing and licking up another white streak from the plate. 

Father Richardson pushed his frock coat apart and unzipped himself, watching the spectacle before him. He sighed with relief as he eventually took himself in hand and felt a thrill of satisfaction as Martin’s attention dropped from his eyes to his own bared cock.

With Martin naked, the two points of reflection in the candle light were the plate he was currently obediently licking cum from, and the cock cage which was beginning to look tight as Martin started to get hard again.

Douglas stepped forward slightly, close enough to stroke the young man’s hair as he continued to clean the plate as instructed. He fisted himself in beats of three, wanting to time his release with Martin finishing cleaning the plate with his tongue.

A thought occurred to him with only a few licks of cum left. 

“Keep it in your mouth, Slut. Don’t swallow.”

The moan Martin made nearly pushed Douglas over the edge, but he staved off until Martin had licked up the very last smear of cum.

“Now open your mouth for me, Child,” Douglas ordered, his voice low and affected.

Martin did as he was bidden and the sight of Martin’s own cum pooled in his own mouth and those trusting blue eyes stole the last of Father Richardson’s control.

Douglas’ first burst of cum missed Martin’s mouth entirely, splattering across the younger man’s cheek. The second that quickly followed hit it’s mark, mixing with Martin’s own as Douglas groaned out his pleasure.

He shuddered as his climax continued and bathed Martin’s neck and chest in two further pulses, before the last twitch of release dribbled onto his fingers and clung to the end of his cock.  
Martin immediately leant forward, tongue still extended towards the head of the priest’s cock.

Douglas dirtied Martin’s dry cheek with the cum from his fingers holding him back.

“Ahh, ah, ahh. You’ve been good, but you haven’t deserved that tonight,” Douglas admonished, feeling suddenly weakened by his release.

Instead he smeared his cum into the skin on his cheek, then on the other. He closed Martin’s mouth with a finger under his chin.

“Swallow.”

Martin obeyed, a look of ecstasy on his face.

“Now rub the anointment into your skin,” Father Richardson continued.

Martin looked down where the drip of cum had made its way down his abdomen and into the top of his pubes.

Slowly, reverently, Martin complied, beginning to shiver. Douglas stroked his hair as he rubbed Douglas’ release into his own body and by the time he had finished he was shaking noticeably.

“You are not to wash off the anointment until morning. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father,” Martin answered, his teeth chattering.

“Well done, Martin. You’ve done beautifully tonight. Come now,” Douglas said, pulling the young man up to his feet.

He lead Martin out of the church and back through the dark passage way to his softly lit living room and over to a sofa that felt the warmth of the fire place.

Douglas sat down and pulled Martin down by his hand. 

“Come now, lie down. Place your head on my lap,” Douglas requested, softly this time. No hint of command lay in his voice. 

“What? Why?”

“Just take a moment to rest. I’ll be with you – you’re quite safe. You did wonderfully Martin. Come on, under this nice warm blanket.”

Douglas plucked a thick blanket from the back of the sofa and held it up, gratified with Martin slithered under it and tentatively lay his head on Douglas’ thigh.

“Good boy,” Douglas murmured. He continued his soft words of endearment and stroked through Martin’s hair until he felt the younger man fall asleep.

~oOo~

Martin awoke to his name being called softly, to find Father Richardson crouched before the sofa with a glass of water in his hand.

“How do you feel Martin?”

“What? Where- Oh- I-”

“It’s okay. Everything is okay. Would you like a drink of water?”

“Oh- Oh, thank you,” Martin said, sitting up, shyly covering himself with the blanket.

Martin looked about and saw his clothes in a pile on the arm of the sofa.   
“I’d better get going…”

“Only when you’re ready. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to.”

“Erm, thanks. But I’d better get back,” Martin said, taking a deep drink from the glass.

“How did you get here?” the priest asked.

“I walked. It’s not far – twenty minutes.”

“I’ll drive you. I don’t want you getting cold again.”

“Oh, no. That’s okay, I err-” 

“I insist, Martin.” He gave the young man a little smile. “Can’t go mistreating one of my favourite parishioners, now, can I?”

~oOo~

Ten minutes later Martin was bundled into the passenger side of Father Richardson’s aging Lexus and heading for his home. Soft jazz had played quietly as soon as the ignition was turned negating the need for speech for the journey so far other than for Martin to confirm his address.

It was Father Richardson who broke the silence as they turned into Parkside Terrace.

“Martin… I hadn’t realised when this began earlier tonight that you had never done this before…” He glanced across at Martin in the orange light of the street lamps they passed.

“I did tell you the truth… I haven’t,” Martin answered quietly.

“If I’d have known I’d have gone easier on you,” Douglas said by way of apology, pulling up in front of the address Martin had indicated.

Martin glanced at him and gave him a little smile. 

“What makes you think I would have wanted you to go easy on me?” Martin asked, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“You aren’t calling me Father anymore?”

“Seems a bit more special now than to be using on a kerbstone on Parkside Terrace,” Martin said with a shy smile that Douglas found hard to equate with the naked man who was begging for pain before his alter not three hours before. Douglas smiled.

“I just want you to know that in this next forty days, I will stop whenever you want me to, I won’t hurt you… well, I will – but not in a way you don’t want me to.” 

“Oh, I know that, you won’t hurt anyone intentionally and you’ll go out of your way to avoid hurting people even intentionally.” Martin said with a laugh, opening the door and getting out. Before he could close it, Douglas responded.

“Martin, don’t you think that’s rather naively trusting of you considering what’s happened today?”

Martin ducked his head back into the Lexus, a smile still on his face. 

“Yes… today you gave me fifteen pounds of your own money to buy a batty old lady’s rock cakes. Not because they would get sold and poison people - because anyone within a 2 metre radius can sense they’ll taste like crap - but because she’d be terribly hurt if they didn’t sell.” Douglas ducked his head and glanced out of the driver side window.

“Besides,” Martin continued, bringing Douglas’ attention back to him. “If you really, really wanted to make me suffer, you’d have made me eat one.”

Douglas snorted a laugh. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Yes, Father,” Martin answered cheekily.

Douglas reached into his glove box and pulled out a card. 

“Here’s my mobile number. I keep my mobile by my bed- Don’t look at me like that, I’m not giving you dirty talk in the early hours, but if your cock turns purple at 3am you’ll be needing a key.”

“Ah, bollocks. Yes. Thanks-”

“Douglas.”

Martin smiled radiantly. “Thanks Douglas. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Hierophilia, cover](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3440333) by [tracionn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracionn/pseuds/tracionn)




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